


The Future at the Tip of Your Tongue

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fortune Telling, Sex Magic, Sort Of, Surreal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 05:19:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12720414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: Loki thinks he's figured out a ritual to tell the future but he needs a proxy, and it's something of an irregular spell.“I need to have my mouth on you,” Loki admits. “The entire time.”“Kissing or…?”Loki hums noncommittally.Sif sighs with mock exasperation. “Well. If we must.”





	The Future at the Tip of Your Tongue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [murdur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdur/gifts).



Loki tells Sif he has a spell he needs her help with.

It’s an odd request from him. Not that they aren’t friends—they are, and true companions, and sometimes more when the urge moves them. But he always works his spells alone, shut up in his room, unwilling to receive help from anyone at all. And Sif is not known to have any skill with sorcery in particular.

“I think I can foretell the future,” he tells her. “There is a certain ritual to go about it. I need to carve certain runes and make preparations as normal, but this one requires a proxy as well.”

“A proxy?”

“The magic involved is too much to be held by a single person,” Loki says. “So I do the casting but the image passes on to you, and you must write it down as you see it before it passes. I have a notebook ready…”

That’s hardly the concern. “What does being a proxy entail?”

Loki pauses. He’s been pacing the entire time as he explains it to her, but now he stands still and looks at her with a bright smile. “It’s nothing dangerous. Not especially painful, either…”

“Out with it,” Sif says, with a warning look. It’s something highly irregular then, possibly more dangerous than he wants to admit or with terrible side effects. She intends to make him work for her agreement but part of her already knows she will do whatever he asks for. Loki’s spells aren’t necessarily important to Asgard or militarily vital but they’re always exciting and besides, he rarely asks her for much.

And she’s much too fond of him.

“The spell requires an intense and intimate level of connection between the caster and the one receiving the vision,” Loki says, still smiling. His fingers twitch at his sides. “A level of connection one might call visceral, of communication as well.”

“An intense and intimate level of connection.”

Loki nods. He gives her a meaningful look.

“So…” Sif ponders how to phrase this. Typical of him to skirt the issue and leave her to do all the heavy lifting. “Will we be fucking while you do the spell or does it just need to be someone you’ve fucked in the past?”

Loki raises a finger. Preachy. “Aspect of communication.”

“And that means.”

“I need to have my mouth on you,” Loki admits. “The entire time.”

“Kissing or…?”

Loki hums noncommittally.

Sif sighs with mock exasperation. “Well. If we must.”

 

* * *

 

Here’s the thing: She’s not really as blasé about the matter as she would like Loki to believe. Loki probably thinks, after the couple of times they’ve had sex and how casual she was about it, that she does stuff like this all the time. But she doesn’t. She’s had sex with a couple different men and women over the years, always pretty casual and always very vanilla. She’s never sucked a dick, given a blowjob—around here, even if she’s accepted as a warrior despite her womanhood she knows how quickly that could change if she showed an inch of submission. And of course none of her warrior lovers have been willing to do the reverse for her either. An Aesir warrior doesn’t get on his knees.

She usually likes the sex she has. It’s usually sloppy and awkward, heat of the moment type of thing, sometimes a one night stand and sometimes a running affair like she has with Loki. But that’s good enough even if it’s a little plain. Loki’s the most careful lover she’s ever had. At least he liked to take it slowly, and he put as much attention into giving her pleasure as he did to his own pleasure. She likes being with him. She’s never pushed for more, though—he has a terrible possessive side and she’s not sure she’d like being his, or being anyone’s for that matter.

But he’s her favorite lover, and the thought of doing something different with him makes her nervous. It’s not going farther, exactly, but still, different. Theoretically the recipient doesn’t have to do much during oral sex but enjoy it, but even that is troublesome—what if she enjoys it too much? What if she forgets to write down the vision?

And does he know of her lack of experience? People around Asgard say Loki knows everything, but he’s no Heimdall. She hopes he doesn’t; that would be truly galling. For that matter, does Loki have any experience? People around Asgard also say Loki knows how to put his tongue to good use, but it’s always a joke. She doesn’t know if he actually has many lovers. For all she knows, she’s his only one.

Well, whether he has other lovers or not, he’s chosen her for this particular enterprise. She won’t let him down. But it gets to her. She finds herself spending more time on her hair and makeup than usual, and she almost puts on a dress before thinking better of it. Loki likes her in trousers anyhow. The first time they fucked was right after spear practice: she’d beat him roundly and she’d known he was getting off on it, so she’d cornered him in the changing rooms and shoved him against a wall and he’d loved it, the masculinity of it, the way Sif took charge.

Maybe that’s why the idea of letting him eat her out gets to her. It’s giving him control, in a way. She’d thought it would be the opposite, but…

But she won’t think about that right now.

The rendezvous is at night, of course, the only proper hour for sordid affairs or mysterious rituals. She meets Loki in the stables and rides with him out into the forest. An hour away from Asgard he has set things up in a clearing: runes carved into cleared earth, unlit candles in a circle, a slow-burning pot of something sweet smelling off to the side.

They dismount and tie their horses to a tree. Loki brings her to the center of the circle. He kneels down and she almost thinks that’s it, they’re starting, but no, he’s only checking the runes.

“Loki,” she says, and realizes they haven’t spoken since the beginning of the ride, and even then only a couple lines of banter. She mocked him for stealing out of the city without telling anyone what he was doing, like a thief, and he told her he was glad for once to have a cohort. “Loki.”

“Yes, Sif?” His voice is unexpectedly tense. He is checking every single line, carefully, methodically.

She can’t remember what she intended to say. Clears her throat. “Someone could come upon us. We are not that far from Asgard.”

Loki looks up and shakes his head. “We’re far from the road. I know you have no problem changing or taking care of necessities in the woods during missions.”

Sif flushes.

Loki stands. “This is the best place within a reasonable distance for the spell according to my calculations. If you are having doubts, we can end this.”

“I won’t back out on you.”

Loki shrugs. He looks down at the runes. “It is not, perhaps, something I should have asked of a lady.”

“I am your knight and comrade, not a lady.”

“It is not something…”

“I’m interested,” Sif says. “In the spell. I think it will be…interesting.”

He looks her in the eye. _Please_ , she wants to beg him _, don’t make me ask for this_. She feels suddenly that if she leaves this woods without having felt his mouth it will somehow change what there is between them, and she will not have another chance, and that she will regret it. She feels that if she does this with him now, tonight, something will change as well, but it will be something good. She wants to earn his trust, but more than that, the humidity in the forest air is mixing with her own hormones and she wants to feel him, needs satisfaction. Intense, intimate connection? Visceral communication? Fuck it, she rode for an hour to get here and she just wants his gods-damned tongue.

Loki nods.

He kneels again. Now he sinks his hands into the dirt near a couple sets of runes in the language of Alfheim. He mutters a couple words in a language she doesn’t recognize and the runes on the ground begin to glow a quiet gold color. He looks up at her and puts a finger to his lips. No more talking—it will break the spell. But he also takes a small notebook out of his pocket and hands it to her along with a reed pen. It’s one of his favorite tools, she recognizes, one that doesn’t need to be refilled and therefore will not require an inkwell. She nods and takes both from him.

He lifts his hands. They are still smudged with dirt. Gently, he unbuckles her belt and throws it outside the circle. He eases her trousers down to her knees and her underwear as well. And she is exposed to the night air. It’s hot and humid, but she still feels pricklingly aware of her vulnerability.

With his cleanest finger, the right pinky, he twines through her black bush of hair, unshaven and disorderly. Then he braces his dirt-smeared hands on her thighs and leans in. And when his lips make contact with her labias, the vision begins.

 

* * *

 

 She sees blue. Blue of ice and blue of night. Sky blue and dark indigo, and seething electric blue that freezes and burns at the same time. She sees blue that spreads like an infection through her vision and then she sees it on Loki’s skin, sees him changing, expression horrified. She reaches her hand out to help him and sees there is a reed pen in it. She blinks and sees the treeline again. Loki’s lips are barely parted, his tongue barely beginning to tease. Hurriedly she opens up the notebook. _Blue_ , she writes. _Face skin sky body cube lightning_ …

A stab of pleasure and she’s looking at an odd landscape covered in tall buildings of ugly, squared-off design, mostly grey and black and red brick. Creatures are flying through the sky. Within and without the vision she scribbles frantically. Loki’s tongue is warm and wet and bold, and it swirls against her skin. It anchors her and sends her drifting at the same time. The runes are glowing gold but she sees Loki standing on a building, Thor in his embrace. _Thor goes to Loki_ , she scribbles. _They embrace and_ …

Her pen skitters as she sees Thor cringe away. Blood. Betrayal. Loki is laughing and running away and…

Loki’s hands squeeze her thighs. She glances down, focuses on how his brown-crusted thumbs contrast with her pale thighs. He must feel her hesitation. For a moment he looks up, but she looks away instantly. She closes her eyes and opens them again, and in a swirl of pleasure she finds herself on a red-stained battlefield. Literally finds herself, for there she is, another version of her with longer hair and armor covering her body, standing a few feet away from Loki with her sword drawn. Loki is holding a pair of knives, one in each hand, deliberately relaxed but clearly on edge. Other warriors clash but further down the field; Sif and Loki stand apart. Both their faces are carefully neutral. _We are warriors standing together_ , she writes. _We are_ … Are they allies or enemies? Both of them have blades stained with blood, but that doesn’t mean anything. She hates herself for suspecting it’s the latter. Loki has never shown a sign of treachery but something about him sets her on edge even as he draws her in. She has never been entirely comfortable with him.

She knows, in a moment of clarity, that the difference between their relationship before and how it will be now will not only be a difference of physicality. This is power that she holds over him. He has gone down on his knees for her but that is not all. She is learning about him, about his future, seeing more than he will ever see about her. And she knows, even as she gasps and moans her way into another vision, that she will never tell him all the details.

She closes her eyes again. Opens them and there is nothing but blackness before her. Even when she blinks she cannot see the clearing. Nor can she hear anything, not the sound of Loki’s tongue or even the quiet sounds of the forest, crickets or murmuring winds. All sound is gone, and she is divorced from Asgard as one might split the flesh of a fruit from its core.

She has lost all her senses now, has no sense of Loki at her groin or his hands holding her legs. She is instead by his side in a vast emptiness. They are floating or maybe falling, but there is nothing around them, to the left or to the right or up or under. She cannot tell whether they are moving or standing still, or whether it is hot or cold or humid or dry. She can see one thing, Loki, and even him by the source of some light unnatural that reveals nothing else and seems to come from nowhere at all. She sees Loki’s eyes wide open but unseeing. He cannot even see her, of course he can’t, she is not there. His mouth is open. He is screaming but no sound comes out. And she opens her mouth and screams as well, the cry building pressure in her throat until it rips and aches and

 

* * *

 

“LOKI!”

She comes.

She almost falls down as her senses come rushing back to her. The sweet smell of incense and herbs from the pot chokes her, the sound of her own voice deafens her, and the brightness of candlelight blinds her. Loki clenches her thighs and she regains her balance by force of will. Squints her eyes shut, takes deep breaths. She realizes she is crying and stumbles out of the circle. She has spoken now, and she can only hope marring the spell will have no terrible consequence.

Loki mutters something over the runes before running to her side, dropped notebook in hand. He sits down and pulls her into his lap and cradles her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He keeps on repeating it. She can’t find words to describe the things she failed to write.

 

* * *

 

It is two weeks before she sees him again. He avoids her, having taken the notebook and apologized far too many times. She is sick of waiting to hear from him so she goes to his bedroom at night and sits down on his bed and waits for him to show up.

He does at midnight (typical, typical) and for a moment she thinks he will throw her out, so shocked is he to see her there. But instead he sits down next to her and says, “I’m sorry.”

“You could not have known it would go that way.”

“I should have done my research better. It said the future is a terrible thing to see but that the strongest minds may bear it. And it was only to see my future.” He hesitates, then says, “I am sorry I did not say as much, but I had wished to see my own fortune, not Asgard’s. Such a goal, I know, is ignoble…”

“I took the risk with you. I knew your spells are never quite what you say.” She shakes her head and puts a hand on his back. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“To see such horrors is…”

“I came to tell you,” Sif says, “that I cannot remember any of those horrors. After a few hours they passed out of my mind. I can only remember something of the pain, and what details I wrote.”

Loki nods slowly, and Sif smiles sadly at him. Perhaps there is no need to lie—after all, he did not ask for any other details. But he would always have wondered, otherwise, and she does not want to tell him of the things she saw. She worries what he would make of them. She does not want him to know that she suspects someday they may be enemies, or that she saw him falling through a void. If he knew what pain his future holds, she worries he might despair. But surely there is a way to avert the prophecy. She will have to be on guard.

She squeezes his shoulder. “There is one thing I do remember, though.”

Loki’s eyes narrow. “And what is that?”

She grins. “Silver tongue.”

He flushes a surprising amount for the man who had been so bold only two weeks ago. She kisses his cheek. “Would you like to try again without the magic?”

“After what happened last time?”

“I thought we could give it a chance indoors.” Lightly, she places her hand on his thigh. “And perhaps this time I could reciprocate. I see you are already eager.”

Loki huffs. Mustering up a smirk, he says, “Well, if my lady so desires…”

“Your knight, my prince, and your comrade.” She swallows. “And your lover.”

It is the first time she has called him that, and while the word can mean many things, she can tell by the look in his eyes that he takes it the way she means it. Good.

“…I can only do your bidding,” he murmurs. And with a small smile, he gets off the bed and drops to his knees.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, murdur! This fic was written mainly for a combination of two prompts from your request, the first being "Pre-canon Loki trying a new spell/potion with Sif around that goes awfully or hilariously wrong" and the second being from your otp feels tag on your blog, the phrase "With my head between your legs / You’ll be reciting the poems i never finished because they were on the tip of my tongue". Also heard you liked sex magic, semi-public sex (woods is like, not that public but kind of?) and putting that Silvertongue to better use. This prompt kind of fucks around with all that and a little angst thrown in.  
> (Also just being honest here I have not watched all the Thor movies yet so yeah hope I didn't get something wrong.)


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